


Withdrawal.

by misslucyfierce



Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslucyfierce/pseuds/misslucyfierce
Summary: this takes place after miguel picks emily up at felipe's shop in s2e8.
Relationships: Miguel Galindo/Reader
Kudos: 4





	Withdrawal.

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place after miguel picks emily up at felipe's shop in s2e8.

“Get in the car.” Miguel’s voice was low and threatening. You felt sick to your stomach as your husband’s eyes burned into you. There was no courage for a protest as you sank into the cool leather seat. Miguel shared a final look with Felipe - the air smoldering with unsaid threats and violent betrayals. The car held its collective breath as Miguel slid in beside you - the Maybach accelerating onto the empty street. 

The silence was smothering. Your chest felt heavy as the scenery floated by. If Miguel was a drug, this was the withdrawal - the pit in your stomach, the tightness of your chest, the crushing weight of ‘what happens next’. It left you emotionally crippled - drowning in dark waters, at the mercy of his saving. 

Santo Padre was slowly disappearing - the desert landscape taking over the urban expansion. The car remained silent. If Miguel wasn’t speaking, no one was. You swallowed hard at the thought of what would come next at home. Miguel spared no one’s feelings and yours were no exception. His witty and dry sarcasm quickly turned biting annoyance and poisonous words. 

The car slowed, stopping in the driveway of your shared home. Nestor moved quickly to open your door, helping you from the low sedan. Miguel was quick to intercept your arm - dismissing Nestor and Paco without a word. Your feet were reluctantly pulled up the stairs and into the house - shadows dancing in the soft light. 

The shape of his hand was burning on your skin - his tight grip loosened as the front door shut. “What were you doing there?” The question sliding out unintentionally. You watched his jaw tighten at his weakness. Miguel was shrouded in secrets, but yet he expected unwavering transparency. “Digame.” He made another campaign for the truth - his annoyance ever apparent. 

“I went to buy steaks.” Your exasperated tone earned a sigh from Miguel as he followed you into the kitchen like a predator chasing the scent. His hand landed roughly on your shoulder - jerking you against the wall. “Querida,” his voice heavy in your ear as his hand slid around your throat, “Don’t lie to me.” His grip tightened - you felt your throat fold under his heavy hand. Your hand clasped his - weakly pulling at his fingers wrapped around your throat. You searched your husband’s eyes for empathy and found none. His eyes were cold as he watched you struggle under him. 

Your throat burned as you gasped for breath. Miguel stood back - his eyes remaining on you as you struggled to slow the stars dancing in your eyes. He offered you no attempt of care or grace - watching you pull yourself together after he shattered you yet again. 

“Make dinner.” The only utterance he gave as he walked away - leaving you picking up the pieces. You rubbed your neck - your skin brushed in a light hue - a certain sign of an overdose.


End file.
